


made for music

by kiden



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiden/pseuds/kiden
Summary: A little just-got-the-band-back-together ficlet.(repost)





	made for music

Elisa knows, so they don’t have to talk about it. That’s not to say Patrick doesn’t feel guilty over it, of course he does. Especially now that they’ve put rings on each other’s fingers. Though a dark, twisted - frankly embarrassing - part of him thinks, well, that didn’t stop Pete. But Patrick was never completely sure what Ashlee knew and, more importantly, what she didn’t. It was better that way.

Patrick can’t help wondering now, though, if Pete’s told Meagan. Or going to tell Meagan. It would be easy enough not to, after all. Everyone knows about the stage kissing, and anyway, Patrick’s not even sure if that’s going to be part of this All-New Fall Out Boy.

But he knows for sure that one day he’s going to be on his computer, scrolling through Tumblr or checking out new music, or whatever, and Pete’s going to sit across from him with that face. The tour bus is going to be swaying with the road, or still in a parking lot, it’s going to be morning, or night, and Patrick is going to set aside his laptop and Pete’s going to crawl towards him, all eyes and arms and full lips. And he’ll wrap himself around as much as Patrick as he can, whisper things that will never be in any songs, and Patrick will hold him back.

Patrick knows that just as much as he knows they’ll still want to close the shows with Saturday, whether they do or not. That even though Pete looks older, now, he’s still going to buy ridiculous sweaters and blow raspberries on the back of Joe’s neck when they play video games, just to fuck with him. Just as he knows there’’ll be nights when Pete doesn’t sleep, and he’ll ask with his mouth closed for Patrick to fix it, somehow.

Because Pete is still fucked up, in the way that Pete is always going to be. And Patrick’s not sure if there will ever be a day when Pete doesn’t think Patrick owns all the secrets to happiness, keeping them locked inside his head and throat, Pete prodding him to sing them out until he falls asleep.

But it’s just the road, Patrick tells himself. They were fine for years, right? Pete worked, loved, kissed, sang Bronx to sleep and himself, all on his own. He doesn’t need Patrick, not really. Not like he used to.

But he’ll want him. Want him close, want to feel Patrick’s breath on his neck as the shadows get deeper, bottomless, in the middle of the night. And the truth is, what Patrick had realized during the hiatus, was that he’d wanted Pete then, but he needed him now. Like they were in some cycle of want and need, never on the same page but always, always reading the same book. Patrick’s never sure what that means for them.

Because he loves Elisa. And Pete had loved Ashlee, and now maybe Meagan.

But Patrick loves him so much on the road, in the studio, on the stage. Loves the darkest places in Pete’s head, the places no one else has ever really seen. He loves him with his hands on the guitar, the piano, with his voice. Every letter in every word Pete writes tattooed across Patrick’s heart and lungs, on the inside of his eyes, down his throat. And when they’re together there’s nothing else, and it’s fucking terrifying.

Years ago, Pete’s mouth would talk about gay above the waist, he’d grope Gabe or Ryan, a thousand cameras flashing whenever Mikey Way was within a few feet of him. But there were no boundaries on cramped tour bunks, Pete’s hands and mouth on every inch of Patrick’s bare skin, asking to hear him. Thumb brushing across his lips, gently encouraging him to stop biting on his fucking lip, to sing. Patrick the snake charmer and Pete the serpent, slithering up from between his legs to taste the inside of Patrick’s mouth.

Everyone - everyone - had thought oh, how much Pete needed Patrick. How could Pete function without him, Patrick saved his life.

And maybe, after a while, Patrick had started to believe it.

Until a year became two, started pushing on three, and Patrick dreamt about small Chicago dreams and Pete, young and stupid and reckless, pushing, always pushing, until he was pulling Patrick along. Opening doors, all of them, across the board, big open highways of possibilities. Because every inch of him believed Patrick could do anything, was everything -

And maybe, after a while, Patrick had started to believe it.

And somewhere between their first tour van and the click of paparazzi cameras, between parking lots and sold-out stadiums, Patrick’s want had turned to need.

And God, he’d missed Pete so much.

Pete had whispered to him once in the van that they were soulmates and Patrick had blushed, glad Pete couldn’t see it in the dark. But he believed it then, really believed it. But it’s now he understands it. It’s now, imagining them on the road, Pete pressed against him on a tour bus, remembering the weight of him, the feeling, that Patrick gets it.

So no, he doesn’t have to explain it to Elisa. She knows. Patrick hates himself for it, but she knows.

Maybe everyone knows.

But Patrick’s the music, and Pete was made for music, sweet and familiar and vibrating with energy.


End file.
